Shadows on the Rift
by Fifth
Summary: A nameless vagrant looks for work in Riften but instead finds a suffering city with crime at every corner, divided families fighting for power, and a once-respected Guild of Thieves that has since devolved to common thugs. A dark tale fitting of Riften and the inevitable meltdown of the relationship between Maven and the Thieves Guild.


**S**hadows on the **R**ift

By Fifth

**A/N:** This is the story that I thought the Thieves Guild deserved. Their involvement with Maven Black-Briar and the underbelly of Riften demanded a story that would be awesome. Riften, here, is reimagined to be just a little bigger, and the Rift itself has a lot more towns in it. There will be several characters at play on different sides of the conflict, and there is no Dovahkiin.

Anyhow, after spending the last few days pumping out these words, I'm excited to have this story out for you guys. Consider this a more serious take on the Thieves Guild.

This is rated M for language, as well as adult themes, some crass dialogue, and sexuality. Enjoy!

**Section I: FROST GONE**

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Nameless**

* * *

_"Power and fear. Greater than any spell or potion."_

_- Maven_

* * *

**The Rift**

They had told him there wouldn't be much work there. Maybe at the fishery. Maybe at the meadery, but it was doubtful. The downtown district didn't have much going on, either, since being hired was more of a matter of friends and family and bare sweat and tears rather than the good old fashioned trusting in strangers that he was used to. There were odd jobs, but they weren't particularly well-paying. The only reason the caravan was travelling there was because they had to drop off some supplies. Frost salts from Winterhold, silver from Markarth, and the like. Most of the silver had been claimed to be going to the blacksmiths, but most of the distributors knew it was a lie. The silver was being smuggled to the Stormcloak guards of the Rift. And they were probably selling it back to the Imperials for money.

The lack of honest jobs was, in fact, the very reason why he was able to get such a cheap ride, but it still baffled the driver of his carriage. He was the only few who had come to Riften looking for work, which was rather illogical since most of the good jobs would be in the Reach. On top of that, the general "unsavory state of things" in the city, as he put it, meant that traveling to this gods-forsaken little shithole of a town on the ass-to-ass ends of Skyrim and Morrowind was a definite bad call.

Since there were few decent-paying jobs to be had and he wasn't visiting family, it seemed like there weren't many other options in making a living in this town.

"Other than crime, of course," the driver said, looking over his shoulder while keeping his hands on the reigns.

He looked upon the older, rather talkative Nord with a fond amusement, a solemn appreciation for the types of folk one would encounter when traveling, as well as their transience. One moment, they're here. Then they're gone.

"Your words," he replied.

"Oh, not just _my_ words, lad," the driver remarked, shaking his head with a calm assuredness. "Many words. All of the Rift weeps. The first sentences uttered to you might probably involve an exchange of currency for your life, or a favor, sometimes of the _unsavory_ kind."

That word again. Unsavory. The driver used the word with such a subtle inflection; it almost seemed he was too proud to be using a word that probably not too long ago was out of his vocabulary range.

The wagon passed the bare maple trees, all of their leaves having fallen below them, the wood wheels gently crushing the frosty, dampened brown proof that spring had long gone. It was winter in Skyrim, and the road was blanketed in a dense fog. Unusually cold, said the driver. Probably had something to do with the dragons, said the driver. The dragons had already been driven out of Skyrim by the dovahkiin for nearly half a year. Since then, Skyrim has continued to fight its war in peoples' backyards, slaying one another while the Thalmor get stronger. It wasn't his issue, though, so he didn't have any particularly strong feelings about it.

"What is it with you little ones nowadays? Back in my day, it was either 'do what I say,' or the knife. And 'what I say' was generally not unsavory, though threatening of the genitals was not uncommon."

He scooted away from the sleeping passenger to his left and tried to get comfortable, snuggling inside his coat. "The world's gone to hell, I know. You old guys have been saying it for thirty years, when apparently everything was the shit because Talos was still being openly worshipped."

"Oh, it was, sonny. It was. The cool air touched your nose like you had just woken up, the mead was sweeter than the warm spring itself, and gods—the women. Full bosoms that stretched out to…_here_," the man gestured.

"I could imagine."

"And most of all, they were _unshaved_."

"Wow, I can really picture it now. It is…picturesque," he said redundantly, rolling his eyes.

"It was the quality, boyo. The _quality_. Not like these women nowadays. No disrespect. Too much insecurity. You'd have loved it."

"Talos guide us,' he remarked sarcastically.

"Indeed. I like to talk culture with newcomers. I know you're not from Skyrim and stuff. You sure picked a bad time to be travelin' you know."

"So I'm told."

Further ahead, there were indistinct noises that were more or less city-like: the chatter of civilians, carts rolling on wood floors, tied boats slapping against the dockside. Civilization was ahead, and the end of the long, chilly road was near.

"By the way, I never got your name."

He sighed.

"I'm just a Nomad."

The driver raised an eyebrow. "A Nomad? Sure's hope the reason you ain't telling me is because you're running from the law."

"You won't get any trouble from me, old man."

"Don't worry about me. You should worry about yourself."

He took a breath and glanced away towards the trees.

"I do."

Amidst the fog, torches began to come into view, their flames licking about, barely kept alive by the suffocating moist air. The other wagons at the head of the caravan had already arrived some fifteen minutes earlier, most of them already unloading the goods onto trailers for delivery into the city. Rift guards oversaw the entire process with a keen eye, making sure every bit of the provisions was bought and paid for. When he talked to one of the merchants that had traveled along, an exchange of coin was made. Looks like the old man was right after all.

"Alright, boys. _Slowwww_ down," the driver said to the horses, gently pulling in the reigns.

The carriage crawled its way to the side of the stables and finally halted when one of the stable hands wedged the back wheels with a piece of wood to keep it from moving. This caused a slight shake that woke up some of the sleeping folk on the wagon to wake up. The one on Nomad's left, a rather young dunmer, exhaled a weak yawn, indicating that the nap was not particularly good.

"We there?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

Nomad nodded. "Yeah, Ty. We're there."

"Welcome to the Rift, boys," said one of the stable hands, a redguard dressed in the typical farmer's clothing. "Head over to the gate, and the guards will check you in."

The people on the carriage were all strangers. Even Tythis Ulen, the dunmer who had slept next to him, was to some extent a stranger. Nomad had met him in Whiterun after having settled in Skyrim for just a couple of weeks; the elf was here after leaving Mournhold because of the Argonian invasion there and was now looking for work, yet showed some regret since Skyrim was in a state of war itself. Nonetheless, he stomached the decision he had made and decided to keep looking for work. When they met, the elf was planning to head towards the Rift, so Nomad decided to travel with him. Together, they found various farms and forts on the road and did their fair share of odd jobs, so they were, in a sense, good acquaintances. When traveling, one would have to be rather friendly to all strangers. This made all travelers feel as though they shared some common ground, and getting along was just a bit easier.

"And so it begins," the dunmer said. "The quest for a life."

"Let's head to the gate."

They hopped off the carriage after the others and grabbed their bags. Nomad slung his bag around his back and turned to the driver.

"Good luck out there, Nomad. You fight the good fight now, and don't break too many hearts," he said.

Nomad reached into his pockets and slightly grinned. "No promises."

He pulled out a septim ten from his pocket and flipped it over to the driver, who smiled back at him. Tythis reached into his pocket too, which prompted a look of expectance from the old man.

Then, when his hand came out, there was nothing. Tythis exaggerated a child-like shrug.

"Whoops. Looks like you're out of luck."

The old man let out a chuckle. "Dunmer prick. You two get the hell out of here."

They shared a brief laugh before continuing right towards the gate, and suddenly the guards stood in their way. This wasn't the way check-in worked around here, was it? The Nord guard was rather big, his bulky arms crossed and his face hidden underneath that silly helmet. Behind him was another guard who had his hands on his waist, his body language suddenly very un-guard-like if there was a word to describe it. Nomad looked at the big one with a sort of innocent cluelessness.

"Hi," he said to the guard. "We're here for the party."

"The _Riften_ party," Ty emphasized.

There was a pause. Was the guard trying to intimidate them?

"The party is wonderful. There are dirty women and all the mead you can drink," the guard said. "If you can pay the tax."

"Tax?" Ty asked.

"Two hundred septims would be a wonderful entry fee, don't you think?"

Uh oh. Nomad nearly punched himself in the face. He should not have flashed the gold by tipping the driver. He had heard stories of the Rift; many stories. More than that, the driver had outright warned him before coming here. How could he have been so stupid?

"Are you serious?" Ty asked.

"Look at my face and tell me I'm not."

Nomad cleared his throat. "It's kind of hard to see your face."

"Shut up," the guard cut him off, which caused Nomad to nod agreeably. "You have a problem with the entry fee?"

"I was thinking no septims would be a better entry fee," he suggested.

"I was thinking I should break your legs and send you on your way if you can't deliver the goods, milk drinker," the guard told him.

Ty looked at Nomad. "He's a cocky one."

"What did you say?"

"I said I'm not going to pay your tax, asshole. If we're going to have a problem, then you can report to whoever's making you shake down _working_ _men_ that you _could not extort_ the innocent today!"

The guard proceeded to punch Tythis in the face, causing him to fall back onto the ground. The dunmer, who was much shorter in comparison curled into a fetal position as he lay on his side, groaning with pain. A bruise to start the evening. Wonderful. The guard kneeled down and untied the satchel of coins next to Ty's backpack.

"Hey—hey," Nomad said, speaking up with a hand raised. "Come on. That's not right."

The guard slowly looked up at him.

"Look, we know what you're trying to do. I really don't have much more on me that'll let me survive the next few days, alright? I honestly can't be fucked to give out any bribes at the moment."

"What did you say?" the guard asked, his tone of voice projecting an intimidating smokescreen.

Nomad's voice, however, was beginning to relax the rather tense aura. He looked at the situation as though it was ridiculous.

"This has happened to me more than once," he said. "And I know you can live the next week on two hundred seps. And you can get it from the next guy. Maybe a merchant, perhaps?"

The other guard dropped his hands from his waist, as though they had been caught doing something they weren't supposed to do.

"I'm not saying what you're doing is wrong. Everyone's got to get theirs," Nomad continued. "But I really can't pay. That's why my friend reacted the way he did."

Tythis stood up and rubbed his face, a red mark already forming where the guard's fist hand landed.

"On top of that, it's not very smart to do this to travelers."

Nomad's tone of voice somewhat changed; it was a little more dominant. The guard seemed to be easing up.

"It's greedy."

"No. It's work," the guard said. "And you _will_ pay up. You sound like a businessman."

"That's pretty shortsighted, friend. You're making yourself look like an absolute idiot."

"You have one more chance, milk drinker."

The guard drew closer to him.

"You imperials and your tongues."

There was no arguing with him.

Nomad chuckled. "That's exactly what your sister said."

Furiously, the guard grabbed him by his collar and nearly lifted him off the ground. By this point, though, he was sure that there would be no further violence. He sensed the paranoia that suddenly emanated from the guards' behavior, as though they realized they were going too far.

"I'll let Riften take care of you," he said. "I'll make sure of that."

"We'll see," Nomad replied with a grin.

The guard let him down and gestured for the gate to open. He held Tythis's satchel and placed it into a pocket, causing the elf to frown with disappointment.

"I think this will be good enough. Enjoy your stay, boys."

Nomad patted Ty's shoulder.

"I'm beginning to think leaving Mournhold was a mistake," Tythis said.

"Come on. I'll spot you for now."

They slowly walked through the gate. Riften had finally opened its doors.

"Welcome to Riften."

* * *

**Ragged Flagon – Afterhours**

"Another drought year, living job-to-job," Vex said, emptying the tankard. "Vekel, please tell me the next week is going to be better."

Vekel the Man wiped down the counter and smoked his pipe, barely paying attention to her. "It's going to be shit."

"Thank you," she replied with a sense of relief, Vekel's comment having seemingly flown over her head. "I'll try to keep my head up."

Delvin, who was reading the local paper at the tables, let out a laugh. The two turned to him and wondered what he was chuckling to himself about.

"And what are you laughing at?" she asked, taking some offense.

He continued to chuckle. "The strip."

"Interesting. I wasn't aware you were capable of understanding more sophisticated sorts of humor."

"Your perception is sharper than ever, love."

She was a bit disgusted. "Typical of you to be laughing at a time like this, anyway."

"It's a perfect time to laugh. We're probably going to be dead in the next month anyhow," the breton said, his eyes glued tightly to the paper. "Brynjolf being Brynjolf and all."

"Maven's not going to kill us all."

"I'm not sure what to say to that conclusion. It's a theory that's currently being tested."

"We _have_ to do something."

He looked up. Then back down. "No. What comes will come. We are cursed anyhow."

Footsteps trotted up through the entrance to the Ragged Flagon. Vex looked over and saw that it was Tonilia, who seemed to have an eager look on her face.

"Where have you been?" Vekel asked, his voice barely disguising his suspicion. There was some word that Tonilia and Brynjolf were having an affair; an interesting rumor that never quite seemed to live Vekel's mind. They were supposed to be married at some point a season or two ago, but it never materialized. Often, Vekel would prod Vex for information, but she, herself, was rather clueless as to what was going on. She had enough with some of the scoundrels from the Guild trying to win her affections.

She threw down a piece of paper. "Shipment manifest. Got it from a connect by the gates. We are thieves. We steal. We now have stuff to steal."

"There are bigger issues at hand, you know," Vex said.

The redguard blinked. "Really?"

"It falls under the description of _our_ _heads_ and s_pikes_. Pikes," she said, correcting herself. Then, she turned to Delvin. "Is it spikes or pikes?"

"Pikes, love," he replied, his eyes glued to the paper.

Vekel finished cleaning a cup and placed it on a rack to dry. "The Honningbrew Job was botched."

"Really? Who got that job?"

Vex grabbed a seat at an empty table. "Some recruit Brynjolf dragged in here from Dawnstar a few weeks ago. He's dead."

Everyone seemed callous to this fact.

"What's Mercer up to, then?" she asked.

Delvin folded the paper in half. "Powdering Maven's wrinkly arse right about now, I'm sure."

It wasn't just the Honningbrew Job. Before that, the Guild had failed to coerce the owner of Goldenglow Estate back into business with Maven, which inspired some rather venomous words that were casually delivered by courier to Mercer Frey. That week, two of their own were arrested for petty crimes within the city walls, which was an indication that Maven was beginning to lose favor with them. Cut to two months later and this Honningbrew Job was the final love letter to end a bittering relationship.

Tonilia walked over to the table and sat on it, her legs swinging over the edge. "So what are we going to do?"

"I'm stuck between wanting to get some work done or getting the hell out of dodge. Being that one of those leads to me getting fucked, it's difficult to choose," Vex remarked sarcastically.

Delvin casually sipped on his drink. "It _has_ been awhile."

Following a scowl from Vex, the doors leading to the Flagon swung open and a busy man dressed in fine clothes made his way into the bar, humming a tune rather melodic and upbeat. Brynjolf was not truly a man to be kept down by hard times; at his best his persistence won out even the most stubborn of them, and perhaps even rivaled Maven's. On top of that, he always kept a more open mind compared to the other thieves, and kept an easy emotional wavelength that would charm most women out there. But, to Vex, the man seemed delusional at this point. At one point, they would never question his belief in the Guild's success, or survival, to put it more accurately. Now, however, he seemed to be among the insanely devoted who would drag his followers to their deaths, much repeated in history by generals and religious figures. This streak of faith, perhaps to a fault, was oddly contrasted by his willingness to sell bullshit potions to unsuspecting fools in the town's marketplace.

He did have a way with finding avenues, though. Perhaps one that'd help them escape. She gave him that much.

"What're you so happy about?" Vekel asked him, putting out the pipe and preparing to sweep.

Brynjolf stopped and partook in the small circle that they had formed. "Easy there, lad. What's the point of the climax if there's no foreplay?"

"Not looking to get foreplay-ed by you, thanks," the bartender replied, continuing his job.

Tonilia slightly giggled; a small, but noticeable gesture that caused him to scoff under his breath. Vex chose to prematurely break the silence that she was sure would awkwardly follow.

"Well? Lay it down. I haven't got all _week_," she said, emphasizing the 'week.'

He crossed his arms in the typical fashion and leaned back against the wall.

Delvin's shoulders slumped. "If we're going to sell them piss-for-potions you've been toutin' at the marketplace…"

"_Shh_," Brynjolf hushed. "You're ruining a moment of glory here, Delvin."

She glanced at him and they both shared a silent chuckle, since Brynjolf was rather serious.

"Now, I've become privy to some information that could make Black-Briar house rather wispy in the coming months. It will give us some of the leverage we so desperately need."

He casually reached into a pocket inside his jacket and retrieved a rather sizable brick of silver. For a moment, the others were somewhat mesmerized by it, as though they hadn't seen it before. But they have. He gently placed it on the table and Delvin immediately snatched it to take a look. It was pure silver, and in the center of the brick there was a hallmark that looked like it had been hand-stamped. The ingot was dirty, as though the processing was rather rushed; or perhaps it had just come out of the mine.

"Silver?" Vex asked, receiving the ingot from Delvin.

He shook his head. "Not just any silver."

"That's Silver-Blood silver, from the biggest silver mine in the Reach," Brynjolf said.

The others didn't seem too impressed.

"Bryn, I don't think Mercer would want us to get involved with the war," Tonilia said.

"She's right," Delvin agreed. "It's not a surprise that some of the silver is leaking out to Ulfric's regime for some profit. You suggestin' we do business with him?"

There was a smirk on his face.

"Jumping to conclusions, lad," Brynjolf said. "We know that silver's been smuggled across the Rift since the war started. Hell, we know that Maven might even have some friends in the Silver-Blood family. Might even help with the smuggling to expand their profits in the war since she's all the way to the east."

Vex paused for a bit, then raised the ingot at him. "You _stole_ this? Are you _trying_ to put our heads on spikes?"

"Pikes," Delvin corrected.

"_Whatever_. Bryn, look. I know that I don't have the final say in this, but pitting us against _Maven's_ silver trade is…the stupidest fucking thing I can think of right now. And the war isn't even part of the plan, so we won't be getting into bed with Ulfric anytime soon."

Brynjolf's stare was calm, and a smirk signed the edge of his lips. When Vex realized how ridiculous she just sounded by jumping to conclusions, she darted her gaze. He always had a way with words.

"What makes you think this is Maven's?"

The rest of them were surprised. What did Brynjolf have, exactly?

"This pretty little ingot here was found at a Snow-Shod warehouse just to the east of the city. Or, more specifically, on a carriage heading to the warehouse. A carriage covered as to make it seem like it were transporting goods to and from the city."

He received the silver brick and then tossed it over to Tonilia, expecting her to handle it, meaning that she would have to find some way to get it sold.

"Now, funny coincidence that today the caravan delivering supplies hits the city walls. We all know that the silver here goes to proper processing with Maven's group. It gets melted down, re-stamped, then goes to the Eastmarch. It does not, and I say this with absolute certainty, _does not_ go to the Snow-Shods. The Snow-Shods aid in Black-Briar's mead distribution and manufacturing. Namely honey."

Vex suddenly had a smile on her face. "And guess which certain honey supplier suddenly fell through the cracks some time ago?"

Goldenglow Estate. Brynjolf nodded, satisfied that they were at least following along with his explanation.

"Wouldn't suppose it'd be just a little greedy to try and nudge your way into the silver trade?" Brynjolf asked rhetorically.

"You gonna bring this to Mercer?" Delvin asked.

He shook his head.

Vex then raised an eyebrow. "You trying to go behind his back? You don't trust him?"

"Mercer is at Maven's feet right now kissing the very ground she walks on. Him delivering the message to her makes it too obvious that this is about leverage."

The door on the other side of the room suddenly opened, and a woman came in, dressed in her typical leather getup with a cloak thrown over it to shield her from the cold outside. Sapphire dragged herself toward the Flagon with her voice at a low whisper, muttering curses under her breath as an angry child would.

"And Vex," he continued. "Never trust a thief."

She stomped her way up the ramp and was about to head straight to the Guild's sleeping quarters when she suddenly stopped and turned to see them. Sapphire had been having a terrible week after one the buyers for a valuable she had stolen backed out of the deal. On top of that, she had resorted to scamming one of the stable hands into paying her a fee, which she secretly loathed herself for, simply because the act was very un-thief-like.

"Need a shoulder to cry on?" Delvin asked casually, inspiring a first-rate glare from the practiced thief.

"What is it?" Brynjolf asked.

Sapphire ran a hand past her hair and turned to him. "Your little scheme at the gate got sniffed out by one of the travelers."

He crossed his arms and leaned back. "Really?"

"He made quite an impression. Oh, and one of them got punched and robbed. I don't think the tribute will make its way to you anytime soon."

She then turned around and sauntered her way towards the Guild's entrance way.

"Just wanted to let you know."

* * *

**Black-Briar Manor – Sundown**

There were more than a couple of things that she might have gotten wrong, but she was sure the mixture was right. Perhaps the execution was wrong? Whatever it was, she'd have to wait until tomorrow, since working all day had made her completely exhausted. She scribbled down another note to remind her that she should restock some of the ingredients soon otherwise Elgrim would probably throw another fit. At that age, the old man should strain himself. Ingun Black-Briar put the note into her research booklet and placed it on top of her desk. She rolled onto her back and rested her head on the pillows, taking a long breath as a catharsis to the day's work. But it wasn't enough. Perhaps a bath would do.

Then, a knock.

"Come in," she said.

"Gunnie."

A head poked into the door. It was her older brother, Hemming. Since they were children, he had always been the one to help their mother with most things, and as they grew into maturity, helping sort out mother's desk slowly transformed into helping sort out mother's problems. He was often the one who carried out her orders down the chain of command at the meadery, among other things. Other things that Ingun never really bothered to involve herself in. That was probably why her mother silently respected her.

"Yes?" she asked, sitting up on her bed.

"Ma-ma wants to talk to you."

She was a bit taken aback. "Me?"

Hemming tilted his head just slightly in response to her suspicion. "It's nothing big. She's in the living room. Hurry. I got to get back to the meadery and check off today's shipments."

"Okay," Ingun replied rather unconfidently. Before she could get out of bed, Hemming was already gone from sight.

She went to the mirror and stared into it for a few moments. Of all of Maven's children, she was the closest to her spitting image. The most notable traits were her deceptive eyes, thin an angled in such a manner as to seduce, coupled with the eyebrows, curved and high. It characterized her expression in a way that suggested she enjoyed misbehavior. And her lips, just slightly pursed and slyly thin, sharp enough to cut like a razor. She often remembered times when she'd travel to the meadery and workers would slightly flinch at the sight of her, their hearts skipping a beat not out of attraction but fear. Similar things happened around town, and most folk dared not meddle with her life. It always made her feel isolated, especially when most of the men she had dated were often introduced by the family. If not, then associates. Often, she wondered if her mother would force her to marry one day, as a business transaction. Ingun fixed her hair to make it a little more presentable and walked out the door.

Their home was situated near the edge of the city, close to the walls. It was in a very tightly wounded suburban area of Riften where most of the rich and powerful stayed, housing a total of five families, most of them in cahoots with Maven. Across town, the Snow-Shods made their home. Her mother did this in order to keep the power stretched far across Riften's walls, and everywhere in between. In fact, her immediate power could be felt throughout the Rift, as she had eyes and ears as well as the guards throughout the small towns on her payroll. This silent kingdom seldom felt any threat since her mother was so powerful.

Ingun arrived downstairs and into a living area, where her mother was enjoying a cup of tea with another man. This was Mercer Frey, who lived down the street and was obviously one of her closest associates. From what she gathered, he was a big player in the Thieves Guild, and the way he carried himself made it seem as though he were their leader. It wouldn't be a terrible assumption.

"…getting weaker by the day. You'll also have to look into that silver thing," Mercer said. "I'm not sure, but something could be up."

As she encroached on the conversation, her mother's deadly eyes immediately darted to her, a piercing look that immediately signaled the end of the conversation.

"I'll look into it, Mercer. Thank you."

The older man stood up and greeted Ingun with a smile that all-too-well suggested that he was hiding something. He was already walking towards the exit, stepping right past her.

"Have a good night, kid."

"Good evening, Mr. Frey," she said.

Ingun stood in front of her mother who sat with her legs crossed, tea in hand, patiently waiting for the front door to close. Maven looked out the window for awhile, and when the door gently clicked, she opened her mouth to speak to her daughter.

"How are you today, my dear?"

"I'm fine," Ingun said.

"Your experiments going well, I presume?"

"Yes, mother."

Maven set down the tea cup and stared at her daughter. Ingun almost felt like she was being evaluated, like a healer checking up on a patient. She had seen her mother's anger more than a few times, and never wanted to inspire that trait with her own actions. She hadn't even realized she wasn't looking at her mother's eyes; it was that powerful, and perhaps her mother even enjoyed it.

"Good. I have something for you to do since I've been inundated with tasks lately."

Ingun was already going to protest. "Mother, I—"

"I need you to drop by the dungeon and pick up your brother, Sibbi," Maven said, much to her daughter's surprise. The razor smile found its way to her lips. "Have you already forgotten about your dear brother?"

"I have not."

"Your brother, who, in his deep reserves of wisdom, decided that he would murder someone without _my_ permission," she said. "Have you forgotten about him? The one who kindly delivered a dagger to your best friend's brother's throat? Leaving him to die in the middle of Riften?'

"No, mother."

Maven delivered her explanations coldly with a distant sense of anger attached that she did not show, merely for the reason that it was probably a waste of mental energy getting too worked up about it.

"An eight month mess that drained precious resources and money out of my pocket. Several payments to that bitch Laila to replace her dungeon guards with men who would protect my baby boy from foul criminals. Did you forget? Remember your weeping day and night? Pleading to keep me from pursuing your friend Svidi and cutting her throat for making me do this to my son? Have you forgotten already?"

"No, mother."

She poured another cup of tea.

"Of course not. And I did this all for the family. You two may not love the family as much as Hemming does, but just know that I punished Sibbi for you. I spared Svidi for you," Maven told her. "You are my daughter. I love you, and I always will. Don't you forget that."

Her mother stood up and put a hand around the back of her neck, pulling her in closely and kissing her on the forehead. They shared an embrace for just a moment before Ingun was slowly pushed away.

"Your alchemy and magic," Maven said, "pales in the face of power. Power and fear. Greater than any spell or potion."

Ingun looked away.

"You can take Maul with you. Wouldn't want you to get mugged now."

* * *

**The Bee and Barb – Downtown Riften**

It wasn't a particularly lively place, but it did have this aura, this energy, about it. There was a certain character to the way it was built, to the walls that surrounded them.

"Yeah, they're flammable," Tythis said, interrupting Nomad's train of thought. "Who the hell builds a bar out of wood and refuses to polish it?"

"Easy there," an Argonian said, slightly offended. "You don't just enter a bar and insult it in front of the owners. And is that a bruise on your face?"

Nomad nodded. "Product of his charm."

"Well, I'm Talen-Jei. Let me know if you guys need anything," the Argonian said.

"Uh, actually," Tythis said, stopping him. "We were wondering where we could find some work."

Talen-Jei frowned. "That's about the only thing I can't get you. We can't spare any coin here. You can try the fishery and the docks. There's some work there, but it's not permanent. It's on a day-by-day basis."

"I'll have a Honningbrew Mead, then," Nomad said.

This seemed to irk the Argonian, who glanced around to see if anyone else had heard that.

"Where you boys travelling from?"

"Whiterun."

"The only mead in this town is Black-Briar. Don't make any mention of Honningbrew. You'll stir up the wrong nest."

It was a faux pas. He felt like he was in Morrowind once again, unknowingly violating unspoken social norms. To be fair, Riften did hold the atmosphere of being strikingly detached from the rest of Skyrim. Despite the war's spanning influence across the country, here it seemed like there were different issues at the forefront, comparable to a small town too innocent to know how the war truly was. The tired eyes in the room showed signs of blindness; the people were captured in a walking daze that they couldn't seem to escape. What was really happening here? In the corner of the room, close to the entrance, was a man cursed with impatience, his legs unable to sit still. He looked like he was waiting for something. What a strange bunch of characters.

"We'll take two of those, then," he said, walking to a table.

When those two sat, Tythis sat across from him with an expectant look on his face. For one of the handful of inn-bars around the city, the Bee and Barb wasn't too bad. The wooden interiors and scarce lighting presented a rather old-fashioned feel, with the wood having aged and sealed, insulating the surprisingly comforting warmth that could be felt embracing travelers as they entered. Around, conversations danced with idle chatter, creating a masque that seemed to be hiding much. The people of Riften carried themselves in such away that there was so much they wanted to express, but so little they could actually say. It was definitely one of those cities.

"What's the plan for tomorrow?" Tythis said as the two meads were delivered to their wooden table by one of the waitresses. She and the dunmer shared a brief glance before he brought his attention back down to Nomad.

"We'll hit the fishery in the morning. I'll probably drop by the meadery, too."

"Are you serious?"

Nomad grabbed the cold steel tankard and brought the honey wine to his nose, allowing its sweet aroma to relax his senses.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

Tythis shrugged and took a sip from his tankard. "You're just going to go looking for trouble? Why?"

There was a pause as Nomad took the moment to contemplate.

He then leaned in just a bit. "You ever feel like there was something out there you were supposed to do?"

The dark elf shook his head. "Like what?"

"It doesn't matter what," Nomad said to him, sipping his mead. "Just something you have to do."

"I wouldn't know."

"You might not know what it is yet, but you know that it bothers you. It stays with your thoughts, mocking your dreams, your waking hours. And every moment you let slip by is another moment that you could _do_…this thing you are supposed to do. Your responsibility."

Tythis chuckled. "Why would it be my responsibility? If I didn't make the choice to be responsible in the first place, then I shouldn't feel like that."

"That _was_ your choice. You've been making that choice your entire life," Nomad said. "And one day, you suddenly find out that the world will move on. Your life consists of little suicides until the day comes where your death sentence knocks on the door. And you? You never did what you were supposed to do."

"Gods," Tythis remarked with surprise, raising an eyebrow. "I think a lot of people feel that way. What's going through that head of yours?"

Nomad stopped for a moment to ponder on the question.

"Clarity."

Then, their conversation was interrupted. A woman tossed her blade sling over the third seat on the table, causing the table to jolt off balance before slamming back down to the floor. She exhaled with relief, a farewell to a long day at work. Her outfit was a rather loose-fitting shirt that disguised her figure, leaving much to the imagination, coupled with tight pants that were meant to hide underneath armor. She brushed her long honey blonde hair aside as she sat down, looking at the both of them with a satisfied smile on her face.

"Hey there," she said. Her hairline on the left side of her face had traces of some paint that he guessed she'd applied earlier in the day. "The rest of the tables have been taken. Don't mind if I sit with you two, do you?"

She was unexpectedly beautiful for someone who looked like they had been out in armor all day, or maybe perhaps she was beautiful because of the fact. Her smile had an unmistakable confidence to it and her eyes sang a song of experience, a striking detail that only meant she was not one to be trifled with.

"Of course not!" Tythis instantly said, speaking up first. "Who wouldn't want the company of a beautiful woman?"

His words seemed to amuse Nomad, who only looked at the Nord woman with an approving smile.

"Thank you, you're too polite," she said. "My name is Mjoll."

"Tythis," the dunmer greeted, shaking hands with her. "This is Nomad."

She looked at him with discernment, unsure of whether he was as innocent as the dunmer who openly greeted her. Then again, who in Riften was innocent anyway?

"Nomad?" Mjoll asked, regarding the name. "I sure hope that isn't the name your parents gave you."

"Then we have something in common," he replied with a nod, gently raising his cup.

This caused Mjoll to laugh a bit, and she raised a hand, to which the Argonian woman at the bar gave a nod. Some of the patrons waved over to her as well, and she returned the gesture with a friendly smile and wave.

"You must be the local hero."

"Oh, no. Not me. I just look out for those in the city who cannot protect themselves."

"A vigilante?"

"Definitely not."

Nomad and Tythis traded glances. "A thief."

"No," she replied. "In fact, I was going to ask you the same question."

He raised an eyebrow. "Me? A thief? I just got here."

"Yeah, I saw," she said. "Saw you two at the gate today. No one's been able to stand up to the guards just yet. Most I know wouldn't dare swing their way out, and most don't have a gift with words, either."

Nomad raised a hand toward Tythis. "We didn't get away unscathed, as you can see."

"What are you two doing in this town?" she asked. "It isn't particularly kind to strangers."

"I believe you're a good exception to what you just said."

Mjoll placed a hand on her chest as the waitress came over and delivered her cup of mead. "Me? Don't be silly. I'd sooner kick your ass than blow you, that's for sure."

He playfully winced. "Ouch. Don't just crush a man's hopes like that."

She drank her mead and glanced between them.

"So, you didn't come over here just to be nice, I take it?" Tythis asked.

"I'm Riften's protector," she suddenly stated. "It's my business to know what two suspicious newcomers to my city are up to."

"Careful now," Nomad said. "Using words like 'my city' can get you in trouble, or so I've heard."

"What make you say that?"

"Me getting chastised for ordering Honningbrew instead of—"

"Black-Briar," Mjoll finished his sentence. "You'd do well to understand the order of things around here."

Tythis took another sip. "You say that as if you're not afraid of them."

"When you protect this city as if it were your child, you mustn't look like you're afraid of anything," she explained. "Maven Black-Briar, the Thieves Guild…you've heard of them, I'm sure. I know their names are uttered in the furthest reaches of Skyrim. I know, because it's what led me here."

Nomad set the tankard aside and folded his hands together. "But you _are_ afraid of them."

"Is it so easy to see?"

He shook his head. "No. You're a warrior, and you hide it well. But I know that smile all too well."

"You _have_ to smile, darling. If not for you, for others."

"It's practiced. And somewhere along the line, it is faked so well, you start to believe it's real," he said, following her words. "Am I right?"

Mjoll smiled, a little more genuinely this time. "Right you are."

"So what does a man do, Mjoll? When he has nowhere to go, no home to return to, or no family left? I suppose he walks. And one day, he finds himself in a pub in the far reaches of a land cold enough to freeze the _entirety_ of his genitals clean, alongside a tall, ravishingly confident blonde such as yourself who can most definitely show him his intestines of she so desired," he stated, then turned to Tythis who was expecting a mention. "And…this guy, too. What's a man to do to keep himself fed around here? Does he work?"

Mjoll seemed to enjoy hearing him speak, somewhat entranced as the words rolled so easily off his tongue. However, before she could contribute, another voice entered the conversation.

"He _takes_, lad."

* * *

**Mistveil Keep Dungeon – Outside**

A guard greeted them as he passed by.

"It's a good thing Sibbi is coming back," Maul said as they walked up the steps towards the keep's dungeon. The words were actually rather empty. She never actually thought he gave a damn about him, and that he said those words just for her.

"Do you really think that?" she found herself asking.

The question caught him slightly off guard.

"Whatever pleases your mother, miss."

"What would please her is if she had me and Sibbi scheming and murdering her enemies for her," Ingun said. "But thankfully she's fine without it."

"She loves you two, miss. Don't forget that."

She suddenly found herself a little angry. "And what would _you_ know about a mother's love? Did you ever have a mother like mine?"

He was silent.

"Well?"

Ingun suddenly felt like her mother, the tone coating her words with venom. Maul had a look in his eyes that paralleled the look he gave her mother when she was angry. After a moment, the young alchemist sighed.

"Sorry, Maul. I shouldn't have done that."

He nodded. "It's fine. No problem, miss."

"Hey!"

Ingun pretended to be excited to see her brother, Sibbi. He wasn't a very imposing man, possessing a slender build with a head that was shaved and round, like a man who'd spent too much time starving in the mines. In fact, he looked like he'd lost even more weight since he was in prison, a total of eight months in which she was instructed to visit him. It must have been maddening to be in the prison all alone. With a comfortable bed. And good food.

She embraced her brother and looked into his eyes for a moment. There was something different this time. Usually Ingun could tell exactly what he was thinking; Sibbi was never a man who had much conflict inside him. He was typically an ass and followed through on that description, aiming to get what he wanted at any cost, often believing that nothing could stop him. This theory, however, was shot down as soon as her mother placed him in jail. She never forgot about Tomas's murder, and she never really forgave her brother for it.

"How are you, Sibbi?" Ingun found herself asking, her tone decidedly unenthusiastic.

He could feel the way she carried herself. Strange. This kind of feeling existed only with people who understood the meaning of empathy, and her brother was surely not one of them.

"I'm good," he calmly answered.

Then, he looked over to Maul and his expression changed.

"Just you two?" he asked. "At least someone out there still loves me, eh?"

He kissed her on the forehead and started walking off. Ingun was surprised just how disappointed she was. She half-expected an apology for the murder of her best friend's brother. Some of the guards who were reporting in came by them and glanced over to him, probably swearing to themselves on the fact that he'd finally been released.

"_What_…does a guy…" he slowly muttered as he made his way down the steps, "have to do to get his dick sucked in Riften tonight?"

Sibbi stretched his arms and took a breath, enjoying the freedom he'd been denied for eight months. He looked over his shoulder.

"Answer? Not much," he answered with a chuckle. "Oh, it's good to be alive today. Yes it is."

He waited for them to catch up, then turned his attention to Maul.

"Go home, dog," he said to the enforcer. "Think my mom needs help making her way down the stairs."

Maul begrudgingly forced himself to nod and then looked at Ingun. Before she could say anything, he was already gone from reach. Sibbi watched the family's personal enforcer walk away and laughed to himself.

"Same old Maul," he said to himself. "What are you up to tonight, sis? Still doing alchemy for that old fart down near the water?"

"I'm still learning, yes," she answered straightforwardly.

"Jeez, wonder how you could stand being down at the place. Are you two fucking or something?" he asked.

She wasn't sure whether to answer with an obvious 'no' or not, mainly because she wasn't used to Sibbi asking questions that didn't need an answer. However, her brother was already smirking.

"Got you," Sibbi said. "You were thinking about what to answer."

Ingun smirked to herself and looked away.

"Now, if don't need my wonderful presence anymore," she said, "then I'd best be off."

He was unexpectedly quiet to the suggestion.

"I'm sure you've got so many friends in the city just waiting for you to come back so you can run off and throw those grand parties. You know, with enough mead to fill the Row and various amounts of moon sugar to keep you awake into the morning, and enough whores to make it a celebration of Dibella," Ingun said. "I'll be sure to notify Haelga. Maybe she'll bring Svana along. We all know she's just saving herself for you."

Sibbi was a tad unmoved by her words. "Careful there, Gunnie. You're starting to sound like mom. And you haven't even taken half as many lives as she did."

Then, Ingun felt like putting the stake through her brother's heart.

"At least she didn't break my sister's heart and kill Tomas."

He took a moment to read her, certainly surprised at her bottled anger.

"If that was the best you could do after eight months, then I'm a little disappointed," he replied, halfway saying what he felt and the other half attempting to look unaffected.

Ingun wasn't aware, but her eyes were already watering. Her brother sensed this and drew in closer.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked gently, his words unusually comforting and soft. This made his demeanor even more intimidating to her. "Because I killed him?"

She didn't answer.

"When I was imprisoned, I had put out a bounty on Svidi. Whoever finds her would get paid extremely well. It's been five months since then, and there's been nothing."

Sibbi sounded much like their father, who Ingun remembered was a gentle man, caring and loving with the utmost priority being his children. But, she also remembered that he was a man respected and feared, and his demeanor was so calm, so unmovable that it affected all around him. It was cruel of the gods, then, to instill these same traits within her brother, a shadow of the man who once held them in his arms to protect them from the world.

"But one of these days, Gunnie," he continued, "one of these days, a letter is going to come flying through that door. A skinny, unfed courier will deliver this letter to my feet, and that day…"

He put his hand on Ingun's cheek.

"…that day will be worth waiting eight fucking months for. Don't you agree?"

She moved her head away from his hand.

"Until that day, I'll be here. Now, if you're busy, I don't want to keep you," he said. "I've got some business to do. No sleep for the wicked."

Ingun suddenly looked back at him, surprised.

"Business?"

"Yeah," he said with a sigh. "_Business_. Big boy stuff. I didn't want Maul to know, so I sent him off. I'll see you around, baby sister."

He began to walk away.

"And tell that lapdog Hemming that I said hello."

* * *

**The Bee and Barb**

Nomad looked over his shoulder and spotted a well-dressed man leaning against the wall behind him, arms crossed and the most self-satisfied smile marked on his lips. He seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, but whoever he was, Mjoll didn't take kindly to him. Tythis was completely confused as to what was going on anyhow, and remained silent. The man behind him looked at Mjoll and gestured to her.

"Mjoll the Lioness," he started, gazing down her figure. "Fancy seeing you out of your shell and partially exposed. Fancy, indeed."

"Don't think you can come and influence these working men, Brynjolf," Mjoll said. "No amount of help can save your Guild from the shit you've landed yourselves in. They're here to work."

Brynjolf grinned devilishly. "Lass, you say that as if this man's ever worked a day in his life."

"I have, actually," Nomad said.

"Doesn't matter what you've done in the past," Brynjolf told him. "What does matter, though, is how you managed to get through my man at the gate."

"He got greedy."

"Aye, that was less than subtle, lad. But between us, you know more than what you say."

The others at the table looked at him. Nomad was beginning to realize that this character was the man he'd heard of while traveling up Cyrodil. Brynjolf the Clever. He was as sharp as they came, and an important trait, too, since most of the thieves that were recruited never had the skills to be able to walk right up to the target's face and charm his way into the theft. Brynjolf was practiced at being absolutely certain, and Nomad admired that. It was probably why he was here, now, instead of the other thieves in the city's underbelly.

"You tried to match the guard's confidence, which you did, and beyond," the Nord thief explained. "The guard was intimidated. Not an easy feat, I might add. He was our most intimidating. But you got cocky. Started to mock him when you could have just disappeared into the city. Big mistake."

Brynjolf reached into his pocket and retrieved a small bag of coins, and as soon as it came into view, Tythis's eyes lit up and he immediately sat straight. He placed it on the table.

"You might have been able to get this bag back."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"But then again, you didn't _care_," Brynjolf said with a raised eyebrow. "_Your_ coins were protected. And acting the way you did…"

They maintained unflinching gazes. The sound of commotion in the room was completely tuned out.

"…you have a _lot_ on you, don't you, lad?" he asked with a smirk. "Probably on your travelling sack."

Nomad returned a smile, acknowledging Brynjolf's spur-of-the-moment deduction.

"And your mistake," Nomad said, "was trusting him."

"Perhaps so."

"But more than that, the whole plan was despicable," he continued. "The shakedown wasn't meant for me, it was meant for passing merchants. Any of those merchants, who don't plan to stay more than a week at a time will be carrying at the very least a thousand septims for personal spending. The guard charges 200 at the gate. Merchant comes in, wastes the rest of the money on the city; housing, whores, food, whatever. Maybe he gets pickpocketed a few times."

Brynjolf was listening attentively to Nomad's explanation.

"Nonetheless, let's say you get a total 300 septims per subject while he's in the city. Before he heads out, he stops by the local bank—from what I hear, the Black-Briars own one—and withdraws an additional amount of a thousand seps for his trip back to the wife and kids or whatever," Nomad narrated, his words easy and smooth. "The guard probably shakes him another 200 seps on the way out. An exit fee. So at the very end of the week, each merchant brings you a grand total of 700 septims. A generous figure."

"Where are you going with this?"

"Two merchants this week. I counted two, plus from what I hear, fewer merchants have been coming for the last six months. More like five merchants a month. Assuming your plan has worked, each month potentially yields 3500 septims. Let's pool that in with monthly profits, which I'm guessing, based on the fact that you've been reduced to gate extortion, becomes a total of 35,000 septims a month. Add that to your little partnership with Maven and yearly, we'll say that you get roughly half a million septims a year."

Brynjolf's face had the same look that Nomad had just a minute ago. The other two sitting down were surprised that Nomad was capable of putting together so many words in the first place.

"That's half a million septims that will go to maintenance, Guild repairs, weapons and tools, armor, blacksmith work, and employee benefits, if there are any," he said. "Now, the Thieves Guild shouldn't be earning much because it's not really a company. But let's look at the Fighter's Guild in Cyrodiil. They make _half_ of your yearly profits in a month. Other thief extensions make around the same. Some make more."

"I still don't hear a point."

"Where's all that money going?" Nomad asked. "The numbers don't make sense. Either you guys have been sitting on your asses for too long—which isn't an impossible statement. Or…"

Brynjolf nodded. "Someone could be taking it."

"Who does the accounting in the Guild?"

"We don't have an accountant. All of the numbers are done somewhere else," he answered. "And I don't think we should be discussing this here, lad."

"I wouldn't be surprised if it's never been discussed in headquarters, either," Nomad said.

"So you _are_ a thief," Brynjolf stated. "Is that what brings you here? To Riften?"

Mjoll scowled at Nomad, who shrugged.

"I'm here to fulfill a promise," he said. "Where can I find the Guild?"

She scoffed and scooted out of her chair, snatching the blade hanging on it and tossing it over her shoulder. Mjoll stormed out of the bar and left their sights completely, her footsteps stomping authoritatively on the wood floor.

"Whoa, lad. Hold just a moment," the Nord said, his hands raised. "You've yet to prove yourself."

"I've got nothing to prove. I just need to see what's going on. I don't care about making profit, getting rich, or even becoming a great thief."

He reached into his pocket and lifted a bag of coins. It was much thicker than Tythis's bag, which Brynjolf had placed on the table. Nomad put it down and slid it over to him.

"It'll be worth your while. And definitely worth mine."

"I'd be happy to take that coin off you, lad, but what's in it for you, exactly?"

"I get to keep my word," he said. "A word I gave to someone long ago."

The thief thought about it for a second and tried to gauge just exactly where Nomad was coming from. Nomad once again reached into his pocket and snatched a folded piece of parchment, not so big as to hold a letter, but perhaps a small note. He took a solemn breath before placing it on the table.

"You are _the_ Brynjolf, aren't you?"

"Wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

He placed it on the table and slid it over. "This is for your eyes only."

Brynjolf cautiously slid the note off the tabletop and unfolded it. It was old and musty, having been carried all across Tamriel through rain and snow and sand. He looked down at the note. Inside it was no letter, not even any words. It was a symbol, a shadowmark, like the ones that the guild often left behind around cities, often to let other thieves know more about the current location. The mark for 'guild,' for example, was carved in underneath the Temple of Mara. There were others as well, symbolizing loot, safety, or danger. This one, however, was not in most thieves' common knowledge, but Brynjolf recognized it. It was but a simple sign of a pair of eyes with tall ears protruding from each end.

"What did you say your name was?" Brynjolf asked.

"Call me Nomad."

"That is no name."

He shook his head. "No. It isn't."

Brynjolf nudged his head towards the two gold piles on the table.

"Keep your gold. Tomorrow, you meet me at the entrance to the Ratway. If you are who I think you are, then you don't look like much. But I'll give you this one opportunity. Got it?"

Nomad nodded.

"It's good to meet you, then. Nomad."

The two shook hands, and Brynjolf turned to leave. There was still this unmitigated look on his face, though Nomad was sure he tried to hide it.

"_Shadow hide you_," Nomad said to him.

Then, Brynjolf disappeared through the doors.

* * *

**A/N:** I was planning to write SO much more for the first chapter, but the size of this one was a bit tiring on the eyes. There's a lot more that will happen in the chapters to come, and the story will be moving at a rather brisk pace. Right now, I'm just showing you the players, the pieces. More details will be unveiled next time, so stay tuned! Tell me what you thought.


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